


Reconditioning

by Nary



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Armor, Conditioning, Crying, F/M, Face Slapping, Femdom, Hand Jobs, Past Character Death, Past Violence, Psychological Trauma, Restraints
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-06
Updated: 2016-01-06
Packaged: 2018-05-12 03:46:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5651380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nary/pseuds/Nary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Captain Phasma was a hands-on leader.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reconditioning

Captain Phasma was a hands-on leader. The troops under her command knew that she was always looking out for them, making sure that they were performing to the best of their abilities, pushing them harder when she knew they could do better. She had high standards, because she took her responsibility to keep them safe seriously. Many years of conditioning and training had gone into producing each Stormtrooper - to lose one needlessly was wasteful. Shameful.

FN-2187 had been one of the top-ranked soldiers in her division during training simulations, with an excellent kill rate and an ability to think quickly when problems arose. Phasma had high hopes for him. That was why it was so worrying to see him falter in the field. The psychological conditioning he had gone through should have ensured that he wouldn't stop to help a fellow Stormtrooper who fell, wouldn't hesitate to fire on the civilians they had rounded up. And yet he had done both. Something was wrong. 

When she found him panting in the transport shuttle, helmet off, she knew something had to be done. Disciplining him for the uniform infraction was only a superficial solution, a bandage. Even as she ordered him to go for reconditioning, she knew that she was going to have to supervise the process personally. It would take time out of her busy schedule, but her commander's senses told her that if he kept going on like this, FN-2187 was going to cause problems that would reach far beyond his unit or even the division as a whole. And his failure would reflect badly on her. That was unacceptable.

She made her way to the reconditioning lab that evening. It wasn't large and spacious, like the regular conditioning chambers, where groups of future Stormtroopers would undergo their training together. The need for reconditioning was rare - it was usually effective the first time, or else the subject was found to be unfit early in the process and was eliminated. But from time to time a soldier faltered, and could benefit from a refresher. That was where the psych droids came into play. 

Phasma found FN-2187 in the midst of a simulation exercise - a test, to allow the droids to analyze his performance, his reactions. In this case, it was a reenactment of the battle on Jakku, pieced together from the footage captured by drones and helmet-cams, supplemented by holograms when necessary. The report Phasma had filed had suggested they should pay particular attention to FN-2187's reactions when ordered to fire into the crowd.

She stood by impassively, waiting until it was through. The droids would produce their analysis based on FN-2187's heart rate, sweat production, reaction speed, and other similar readings. They could advise that he be remanded for further reconditioning, they could pronounce him fit to return to duty, or they could recommend further tests if their results were inconclusive. Phasma, as his commanding officer, could of course overrule them if she felt it necessary. The readouts on the screens were clinical, impersonal. And right now, inconclusive. The droids beeped as they advised submitting him to a battery of exercises designed to test his loyalty, his obedience. Phasma dismissed them with a curt gesture. She could test those things for herself. 

FN-2187 stood motionless in the middle of the brightly-lit room. She could hear his harsh breathing, muffled by his helmet - but at least he'd left it on this time. She knew he must be waiting to hear what would happen next, and she let him stew a few moments longer, pacing slowly around him. "Do you know why you're here?" she asked at last.

He hesitated before answering. "I saw FN-2003 die right there in front of me. I got shaken up, sir. I don't know what came over me." 

Phasma sighed. Stormtroopers always took things so literally. "You're here because you are better than this, FN-2187. If you weren't, you'd be lying dead next to FN-2003. You can still recover from this slight... setback." 

"Yes sir." He didn't sound completely convinced.

"Come here," she ordered, drawing one of the rigid boards out from the wall. It stood at a steep angle, enough to put a subject off his feet but not enough to allow him to relax. FN-2187 moved where he was told - he was still willing to follow these orders, at least. Phasma fastened the straps around his arms and legs, holding him in place. He was familiar with the apparatus - it was used during early conditioning when the trainees were going through desensitization training, watching scenes of torture, dismemberment, and death. The restraints were required then because some would faint, or try to look away. In those exercises, the viewing helmets would hold their heads in place, but in this case she removed FN-2187's helmet and set it aside.

Beneath it, he looked surprised and sweaty and very young. She knew her troops' ages - she knew everything about them - but that didn't make it any less jarring. "If I take it off for you, it's not an infraction," she said calmly, and he nodded.

"Tell me, 87," she said, using the nickname the other Stormtroopers often called him, "where do your loyalties lie?"

"With the First Order," he said automatically.

"No," she said, and struck him across the face. Her armor was made of chromium - even though she didn't put much force into the blow, it must have hurt. He bore it well, though, staring back at her with a stubborn set to his jaw. "Evidently not, or you wouldn't have failed in your duty." She laid her gauntleted hand against his bruised cheek. "Who are you loyal to?"

"To you, captain," he replied more slowly, as though he'd actually thought about his answer this time.

"If I had issued the order to fire, you would have obeyed it, wouldn't you," she said. It wasn't a question.

"Yes, sir." 

"That's your problem, 87," she said, still stroking his cheek. "You put too much importance on individuals. My orders are not more worthy of respect simply because I'm your immediate superior. You need to reach the point where all of us are interchangeable. You need to learn to respond just as quickly to any officer who gives you a command. I cannot be special to you."

He licked his lips, worried. "Are you going to transfer me, sir?"

"Do you want to be transferred?"

"No, sir," he said, but there was a moment's hesitation.

"It might be good for you. Besides, it would mean I wouldn't have to see you and be reminded of your disappointing performance." She paced around behind him so that he couldn't see her. "You were friends with FN-2003, weren't you?"

"Yes, sir," he admitted.

"You _liked_ him." The snarl in her voice was amplified by her helmet. "And see where that's led you?" He stayed silent, but as she circled around him, she could see that tears were spilling down his cheeks. "Disgraceful." She hated to see them cry. Usually the helmets helped with that, but sometimes it couldn't be avoided. "None of you are special," she told him. 

He swallowed, gulping back tears, trying so hard to control himself that she almost felt a moment's pity for him. "No, sir."

"You're here to be used, FN-2187. The First Order will use you to your fullest capabilities - and it's my job to discover what those are." She flicked open the clasps at his hips, drawing off his groin protector. He went wide-eyed, startled into struggling for a moment, but the restraints held him firmly and he soon subsided. 

Her gauntleted hand spread open the front of his underwear, taking out the soft, rather pathetic item within. She could tell he was afraid - afraid of being hurt, perhaps, or of the unknown. She felt disdain for his weakness, and the faintest hint of enjoyment at having him vulnerable before her. With a command, she called up the scene from Jakku again as a hologram, projected in front of his eyes as she stood to the side and stroked him. 

It was one of the oldest techniques of conditioning, to associate pleasure and violence. It certainly worked on Phasma - even though she wasn't watching closely, focusing instead on FN-2187's reactions, the screams of the villagers as they were rounded up and shot, the sounds of their terror, gave a delicious edge to her appetite. She felt him stiffen as well against the mesh of her glove, an involuntary reaction as he recalled his earlier training, though no doubt aided by her stimulation.

"Captain," he managed to choke out, but she silenced him with a gesture. 

"Your friend did this for you, didn't he," she whispered, rubbing her thumb over the tip of his swollen member. "And you thought he was special because of it - thought you were special to him." It was a shot in the dark, but a well-aimed one. She knew the sorts of things Stormtroopers got up to even though they were strictly against regulations. FN-2187 made a strangled, sobbing sound, hanging his head. "It meant nothing," she told him, and pushed his chin back up straight. "Just like this means nothing."

She jerked him steadily, replaying the scene over and over while he watched, unable to look away. Although she tried to remain dispassionate, just doing her duty, she couldn't help but take some measure of enjoyment from the act, as she might from a particularly satisfying training session. It seemed to take forever, and her arm had begun to ache from the repetitive motion, but finally she felt him shudder with a kind of relief mingled with disgust. She wiped his semen on his breastplate, white on white, leaving streaks he would have to clean off later, as he had cleaned his friend's blood from his helmet. 

"That ought to be sufficient reconditioning for now," she told him. "I hope you won't find yourself here again, FN-2187. That you'll remember what you've learned. Who knows, you could even be officer material one day, if you manage to pull yourself together." She left the room without a backwards glance, ordering the droids lurking outside the door to release him as she strode away.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on Tumblr at [naryrising](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/naryrising) if you want to ask questions, make requests, or chat!


End file.
